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Apr 23 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Book #1 of the Zombie Western Series

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SUMMARY:

Highwater, Missouri. 1880. The Old West was a time of expansion and opportunity for some, oppression and violence for others. Dangerous desperadoes ran wild leaving lawmen struggling to maintain order.

U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade is a genuine stoic, a quiet man with a raspy voice, a permanent scowl on his face, and a disdain for humanity that leaves him using the bare minimum amount of words necessary to get his point across. His deputy, the elderly, pragmatic yet loyal Gunther Beauregard does most of the talking.

Together, they work to enforce the law in a town filled with drunkeness, debauchery, and mayhem. Meanwhile, there’s a tentative peace between the townsfolk and a nearby Native American tribe, made possible only by the good rapport between Slade and Chief Standing Eagle.

The world Slade knows crashes down around him when the dead start refusing to die, thanks to the evil endeavors of Henry Alan Blythe, Attorney-at-Law for the Legion Corporation, and his newly recruited flunkies, the Buchanan Boys.

Zombies aren’t the creatures our heroes will have to worry about. Vampires and werewolves are on the prowl too.

Will Slade save the day? Will the West be lost to the zombie hordes? And when the dust settles and the last undead brain gets a bullet through it, will our hero choose the scandalously alluring brothel owner Miss Bonnie, or the prim and proper bible thumping Widow Farquhar?

PART 1 – The Stand 

U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade and his trusty deputy Gunther Beauregard are joined by traveling snake oil salesman Doctor Elias T. “Doc” Faraday in a stand against the nefarious Buchanan Boys.

PART 2 – Werewolves and Women

Smelly Jack and the Buchanan Boys have been captured and now our hero, US Marshal Rainier Slade, has to wait a week until the arrival of Judge Sampson.

In the meantime, a love triangle blooms. Scandalous brothel madame Miss Bonnie is the only woman Slade can be himself around but…the bible thumping Widow Farquhar is there.

Never underestimate the power a woman who is there has on a lonely man.

Plus, there are some damn werewolves.

PART 3 – The Trial

A day of reckoning comes for the Buchanan Boys. Judge Sampson comes to town and is hankering to pass out some hangings.

But “simple country lawyer” Henry Allan Blythe and his werewolf lackeys have other plans in mind.

PART 4 – History Repeats Itself

Joe Freeman’s past haunts him again and again and his longstanding feud with Blythe is about to come to a head.

Blythe, a villainous vampire/counsel for the Legion Corporation’s board of vampire directors, has dreamed up a scheme to conquer the United States with a zombie army that responds to his will.

But the board’s bureaucratic maneuvering threatens to throw his plan off the rails. His bosses want him to toy with Slade and Freeman, rather than kill them outright.

PART 5 – Wedding Crashers 

Though his heart belongs to fiery redhead Miss Bonnie, Slade just can’t bring himself to say no to his fiance, Sarah “the Widow” Farquhar. Slade and Sarah head to Highwater to plan a wedding for the evening. Actually, Sarah does most of the planning. Slade acts like a depressed hostage.

Meanwhile, a heavily armed and armored train arrives in town. Despite an argument filled with chest puffery, Slade is unable to get any information out of villainous lawyer Blythe.

Smelly Jack crashes Slade and Sarah’s wedding in a big way, though as it turns out, in a much bigger way than expected…

PART 6 – Miles Freeman, Amateur Werewolf

When Blythe’s evil werewolves attack the Bonnie Lass Saloon, Highwater finds itself in the grip of a terrifying zombie outbreak.

But for young Miles Freeman, there’s no time to feel sorry for himself when he loses his father.

Miss Bonnie needs his help…and Blythe’s wolves are on the hunt.

Somehow, Miles will have to figure out how to use his werewolf powers to save the day.

It won’t be easy for him. After all, he might be a werewolf…but he isn’t a very good one.

PART 7 – Doc’s Secret Shame

After Miles gives the survivors a crash course regarding the Legion Corporation’s evil plans, Doc must acknowledge his tarnished past in order to come to grips with a terrible mistake he’s made in the present.

PART 8 – Plans

Plans. Everyone has them.

Slade’s isn’t much of one. He intends to send his bride away in the care of Miss Bonnie, the woman he loves the most. After that, he and Gunther will take Blythe head on, hopefully with Standing Eagle’s help.

Meanwhile, Lady Blackwood beseeches the Chairman to set aside the board’s plans in favor of her own.

And Doc? He’s planning to do something with two mysterious documents.

Part 9 – The Not So Great Escape

Tribal shaman Wandering Snake guilts Standing Eagle into coming to Highwater’s aid.

Slade gets his crew to the livery stable, with a plan to send Miss Bonnie, the Widow Farquhar and Miles south to seek refuge with Eagle’s allies.

Meanwhile, Doc and Annabelle plan to head East to pursue their dreams of becoming international cocaine peddling gynecologists. (Yes, it makes more sense if you read it.)

But with an army of obedient zombies under his control, Blythe interferes with these plans.

The Reverend’s attempt to find some good in Blythe backfires in a big way.

Miles will need to figure out how to be a werewolf before its too late.

Part 10 – Dying with Your Boots On

Blythe has loaded his vile army of the undead aboard a train headed East, schemes to backstab his furry friends and enlists the aid of a strange vampire colleague for some sinister doings.

The vampire lawyer makes Slade an offer he can refuse, but in turn, the counselor refuses to take no for an answer.

Blythe separates Slade’s women. Will our hero be able to save them both before it is too late?

Gunther wishes his boots were off.

Part 11 – Catching a Train

It’s do or die time for Slade.

A train full of zombies is barreling East. If it crosses the Mississippi River, the United States is surely doomed.

Will our hero save the day?

And while he’s at it, will he save the woman he loves?

Will he even get to save the woman he likes?

Part 12 – One Week Later

The West has been zombed.  Cut off from the rest of the country, our heroes contemplate their next moves.

Part 13 – One Year Later 

A year has passed since the West has been zombed.

Miles makes a deal with a suspicious new acquaintance.

Annabelle takes up Doc’s cause.

Slade and Miss Bonnie head to Arizona and get a visit from Wyatt Earp.

And finally…a master outdoorsman is put on the path to the presidency.

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Apr 21 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 85

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The Sturtevant Bridge was an impressive architectural masterpiece, spanning over a mile across the Mississippi River, connecting Missouri to Illinois.

Robards was going to make it go boom.  He and the other soldiers attached bundles of dynamite to support beams as Major Culpepper supervised.

“Speed and precision, men,” the Major advised. “We must move quickly but we don’t want to blow ourselves up either.  Bartlett!”

As always, the Corporal was standing at the Major’s side.  “Sir?”

“Ah, there you are,” the Major said as he handed the Corporal an official document.  “Be a good man and tack this to a tree on the Western side, will you?”

The Corporal perused the document:

An Executive Order of President Rutherford B. Hayes

In recognition of the following facts:

  • That dangerous creatures, identified by experts in the occult arts as “zombies” have cut a wide swath of destruction from Colorado to Missouri.
  • That eyewitness reports describe the aforementioned zombies as dead men capable not only of movement, but also in possession of the ability to turn the living into moving dead men by biting them.
  • That further reports claim large wolf like men are working in consort with these zombies.
  • That Secretary of War George McCrary has advised that direct military action against the zombies is ill-advised at this time.

It is so ordered…

  • That the United States Army shall oversee the construction of a wall along the entire length (2,320 miles) of the Eastern side of the Mississippi River, from its start in Minnesota to its end in Louisiana.  The start of this wall will be connected to a wall currently being constructed by the Canadians across border with our nation.
  • All bridges across the Mississippi River are to be destroyed immediately. 
  • All peoples West of the Mississippi River shall be considered to be carriers of the dreaded zombie contagion and will be shot on site should they attempt to cross over to the East side of the river. 
  • To that end, sentries shall be posted across the Eastern banks of the river and will be under orders to shoot all trespassers without reservation or delay.
  • For purposes of the wall construction efforts, all citizens East of the Mississippi River shall be required to forfeit any and all property as deemed necessary.
  • All able bodied men, regardless of age, shall be required to aid in the wall construction effort.
  • All foreign nations are hereby put on notice that all lands West of the Mississippi River, from the river itself to the Pacific Coast, are still considered the property of the United States.  The U.S. government reserves the right to repopulate these lands in the event that the zombie menace should subside.  Therefore, any attempts to invade, conquer or colonize these lands shall be considered an act of war.
  • All living humans West of the Mississippi River are advised to fight the zombies in any method they deem practical.
  • All living humans West of said river continue to remain citizens of the United States and are expected to obey the laws of the same.  Attempts to form an alternative Federal government in the West shall be deemed treason.
  • All duly appointed Federal officers in the West shall retain their positions, are expected to continue in their duties and make arrangements for their replacements should they become incapable of continuing in office.  However, no compensation can be offered in exchange for these duties at this time.
  • All living humans in the West who engage in activities that would normally result in the payment of Federal taxes and/or fees shall continue to pay said sums to their nearest Federal tax collector, who shall hold such sums indefinitely in the event that the zombie menace subsides.

Signed this 4th day of June, 1880.

Rutherford B. Hayes, President of the United States of America

The Corporal looked up from the document.  “All due respect sir, if I were a Westerner, I’d wipe my ass with this.”

“I don’t give a shit what they do with it, Corporal,” the Major said.  “Just get over there, tack that  paper to a tree to put them all on notice then get your ass back here.”

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Apr 21 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 84

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Standing Eagle raced his horse across the valley, bound for Highwater.  For a good part of the ride, he watched as grain silo on the edge of town catch fire, only to eventually break apart and collapse upon itself.

Suddenly, the Chief heard galloping hooves behind him.  Screeching Owl and Wandering Snake flanked Eagle on the left.  Charging Bobcat and Crafty Fox took their leader’s right flank.

Eagle brought his horse to a halt.  His warriors did the same.

“Why do you defy my orders?” the Chief asked.

“If you are Standing Eagle, then tonight, we are all Standing Eagle,” Wandering Snake replied.

“Our people,” the Chief said.

“In safe hands with Solemn Bear,” Crafty Fox said. “He leads them south as we speak.”

“I will not have you die for white men who lie to you,” Eagle said. 

Charging Bobcat had applied menacing warpaint to his face.  He’d covered his face with a black base and on top of that, he’d drawn a white skull.  He almost looked like a zombie himself.

“We do not do this for the white men, Eagle,” Bobcat said.  “We do this for you.”

Eagle’s stern face did not betray the sense of pride that swelled within him.  He nodded and together, the group made haste for Highwater.

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Apr 20 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 83

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A zombified Clem Buchanan scratched his head, bewildered by the gun barrel he was staring down.

“Ungh.”

Zombie Clem slapped the side of the weapon.  Nothing happened.  He shook it.  Rattled it. Wrapped his teeth around the steel and ground them back and forth.

Nothing.

“Grrr?”

The zombie stared at the barrel again, pulled the trigger and…POW!  His brains were splattered all over the surrounding zombies.

At Highwater Station, Blythe had assembled his own personal undead goon squad.  In life, they had been Buchanan Boys, random cowpokes, assorted townsfolk, and of course, Miss Bonnie’s working girls.

Now they were about to become a zombie fighting force.

Mayhew and the other werewolf conductors armed the zombies, placing pistols and rifles into the creatures’ boney hands.  Under normal circumstances, arming a zombie isn’t the smartest, or safest idea.

Pow…Pow…Pow!  Two more zombies blew their own heads off.  That last pow was made when one of the zombies accidentally shot one of the werewolves in the leg.  Said werewolf clawed the offending zombie in half.

Hovering several feet above his decrepit soldiers, Blythe pressed his fingers against his temples, lost himself briefly in meditation and finally, took control of the motley crew.

What had once been a brood of ignorant monsters quickly became a highly functional regiment.  The zombies snapped to attention, formed lines, and rested the ends of their rifles on their shoulders.

The vampire drifted through the air into town.

“Forward march,” he ordered.

They did just that, marching lockstep in perfect formation behind their master.

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Apr 18 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 81

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“Do you think he’ll answer?” Miss Bonnie asked as she watched the flames dance.

“I don’t know,” Slade said.  “He was mighty sore at me.  And I let Gunther flap the blanket for awhile so he probably did some of that fake Injun talk shit.  The Chief hates that.”

The marshall and the redhead watched the bonfire for a time.  Slade reached for Miss Bonnie’s hand and held it. 

“I love you Bonnie.”

They were words that Slade had never spoken to another woman before. And though many women are often touched by such a warm gesture, Miss Bonnie grumbled a curt reply.

“I don’t blame you.”

A few beats skipped until she finally relented.  “I love you too.”

More fire watching.

Slade rubbed his thumb back and forth over the back of Miss Bonnie’s hand.

“When this is over, you and I have to be together,” Slade said.

“Your fiancé might have something to say about that,” Miss Bonnie said.

“I don’t care,” Slade said.  He grimaced then added, “I do care. I don’t want to hurt her. But my whole life I’ve been pretending to be someone I’m not and if I make it out alive I’m not going to do it anymore, not with her, not with anybody.”

“Rain,” Miss Bonnie said. “I’m too exhausted to be your discount head shrinker so just spill it.”

“When I was twelve I hid under the bed while a bandit shot my Ma dead,” Slade said.  “My Pa sent me away because he was disgusted with me.  I’ve been trying to prove myself ever since, shooting and stringing up every criminal I could get my hands on, talking in a tough guy voice that isn’t even mine.  None of it matters.  None of it makes me feel any tougher.  Whatever I do, I’ll still be that boy hiding under the bed.”

“That’s awful,” Miss Bonnie said.

Silence.

“Now you think less of me,” Slade said.

“No,” Miss Bonnie replied.  “I’ve done bad things.”

Slade held his left hand up in a stop motion. “Please. Everyone knows your ‘bad things,’ Bonnie.  Roscoe Crandall tells everyone who’ll listen.  I don’t care about that.”

“I shot my husband,” Miss Bonnie blurted out, abruptly.

Slade was taken aback.  “What?”

“I was married,” Miss Bonnie said. “To a man who started out nice then turned into a real horse’s ass.  Beat me half to death so many times I lost count so one day I got tired of it and I just up and shot him.”

Slade fumbled for a response.  He couldn’t think of one.

“It was him or me,” Miss Bonnie said. “And I chose me.”

“That explains a lot,” Slade said.

“I suppose,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Those dog monsters you killed,” Slade said. “All those zombies you shot up like they were nothing.  Your offer to shoot Doc…”

“OK,” Miss Bonnie said.

“…your stubborn bull-headedness…your cold demeanor when it comes to romance…your money grubbing tendencies…”

“OK!” Miss Bonnie repeated.

Slade put his arm around his lady love.  “I don’t care.”

The pair stayed like that for awhile until Slade started up again. 

“A year ago Pa wrote me a letter,” Slade said.  “Read an article in the paper about me and one of the outlaws I dragged in.  Told me he was sorry.  Said I’m welcome to come visit him if I were so inclined.”

“Fuck him,” Miss Bonnie said.  “You were twelve and couldn’t have done any better had you been an adult.”

“I know,” Slade said. “But hearing it from him might put my mind at ease.  Nothing else has.” 

“Do what you want then,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Come with me,” Slade said.

Miss Bonnie scrunched up her face. “What?”

“To Arizona,” Slade said.  “This town’s in ruins. There’s nothing left for us here.”

“I’m not going to be ‘the other woman,’” Miss Bonnie said.

“You’ll be the only woman,” Slade replied. “Once this is over, I’ll sit Sarah down, spill my guts, and take my licks.  Then we can be together.”

“I…I don’t…”  Miss Bonnie stammered.

“Just think about it,” Slade said.  “And in case I die….”

Without warning, the marshall scooped Miss Bonnie up in his arms, dipped her, then kissed her passionately.  The redhead let her guard down and returned the favor.  Tongues were surely touched.  Spit was definitely swapped.

Once the smooching subsided, Slade finished his thought. “…I don’t want to go without having done that.”

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The couple’s hearts sank as they heard a pair of hands applauding them from behind their backs. 

There was a witness to their illicit secret, one with blank eyes that served as mirrors, reflecting the bonfire’s flames.

“Bravo!” Doc said between claps. “Bravissimo! Encore! Encore, I say!”

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Apr 17 2016
5 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 78

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All by his lonesome, Doc rocked back and forth in the rickety chair he was tied to.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

“Scoundrels,” Doc said to himself.  “If they think they can imprison the likes of Doctor Elias T. Faraday then they have another thing com…”

Smash.  The last rock went all the way backwards and the chair collapsed underneath Doc’s weight.  The ropes gave way and he was free.

When he stood up, Doc found himself face to face with the Reverend, who had grown weary of the bonfire outside.

The two men stared each other down.

“Are you going to bite me?” the Reverend asked.

“I should think not,” Doc replied.

The Reverend headed for his pulpit.  In the stand he used to deliver his sermons, there was a drawer.  He opened it and produced a bottle of whiskey.  “Then have a drink with me.”

“I suppose it would be impolite of me to turn you down,” Doc said.  “I say, Reverend.  Have you any writing paper?”

Curious, the preacher looked at the doctor.  “I do.”

“Might I importune you for two sheets please?” Doc asked.

The Reverend chuckled at Doc’s big words.  “You may so importune me.”

“And some ink if you can spare it,”  Doc said as he took a seat at the table.

Moments later, the Reverend returned with some paper, a quill pen, a jar of ink and a drink for the good doctor.

“Tell me,” the Reverend said. “Do you think you will remain as you are now or will you become one of the damned?”

Doc dipped the pen into the ink then proceeded to scrawl words in calligraphy across a page.

“I suspect I’ve been damned for quite some time due to the life I have lived, my good man,” Doc said as he dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s.  “But if you are asking if I will become a mindless flesh consuming zombie then I haven’t the foggiest.  I could live comfortably for many years in this harmless state or I could drop dead instantly and proceed to cannibalize the person next to me.

The Reverend gulped and slid his chair a few inches away from Doc.

“Not that I feel as though I’ll drop dead presently, mind you,” Doc said.

The two men sat and drank.  Doc finished writing on one paper, then took a second sheet and wrote on it.

“I suppose that is that is the nature of life,” the Reverend said.  “Whether or not you are about to become a brain sucking son of a bitch, none of us know how much time we have left.  We think we know and we plan accordingly but…”

The Reverend snapped his fingers.  “…at anytime we could go just like that.  Tragic, when you think about it.”

“I try my very best not to,” Doc said as he slid the second page across the table to the Reverend.  “Sir, you’d be doing me a kindness if you were to sign this document for me.”

The Reverend pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket and studied the paper.

“This is a lie,”  the Reverend protested.

“Does that matter in times such as these?” Doc asked.

“My integrity may be misplaced at the moment,” the Reverend said. “But I assure you it’s still around.  If you’re asking me to be a part of something sinister…”

Doc slid the first paper across the table.  The Reverend studied it.  “Oh.”

Without thinking a second longer, the Reverend dipped the quill into the ink jar and scratched his name across the bottom of the document.

The doctor and the preacher clinked their glasses together.

“To science and religion,” Doc said. “Working together for the common good.”

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Apr 13 2016
8 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 74

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Zombies.  Werewolves.  Vampires. 

They made Slade feel helpless and he didn’t like it one bit.  He’d spent his entire adult life building himself into the kind of man who helped others and didn’t need any help himself.  As he laid there on the church’s front porch, his mind traveled back to the last time he felt this useless.

He was twelve years old, hiding under a bed in his family’s tiny house just outside Tucson, Arizona. He was shaking uncontrollably.  Gretchen, his mother, slid the wedding ring off of her finger and tucked it into his hand.

Green eyes peaking under the bed and a request to “keep this safe for Mama.”  Those are the last memories Slade had of her.

Downstairs, a fist was pounding on the door.  An angry voice.  “Open up!”

The door creaked open.  Footsteps.  A scuffle.  “You holding out on us, bitch?”

“No,” Gretchen said.  “Please take whatever you want.”

Slade remained as still as possible as he listened to the sounds of his house being torn apart.

“They aint got shit,” a second man said.  “Sam’s gonna be pissed.”

A third voice.  “What’s the hold up?”

It was Sawbuck Sam Donovan himself.  Like Smelly Jack Buchanan, Sam was another pile of human garbage working his way through the West, stealing whatever he could get his hands on and killing whoever got in his way.

“She aint got nothin’ Sam,” the first voice said.

“Horse shit,” Sam said.  “Everyone always has something.  What have you got bitch?”

“Please,” Gretchen said.  “My husband and I…we’re very poor but whatever you want please take it.”

“Aw fuck it,” Sam said.  Two gunshots.   All three men left.  Sam started shouting threats to the townsfolk outside.

“Unless you want to end up like this bitch, you all best start fetching your goods and bringing them out right now!”

Slade waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Nearly half a day had passed before he worked up the courage to head downstairs.

There, he found his mother, a hole in her forehead, blood covering her face, her green eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling.

He put her wedding ring in his pocket, sat down on the floor next to her, and held her hand.  He wanted to cry but he couldn’t.  He felt numb.

There he stayed for two more days until his father came home.  Lars Slade was a cattleman and he’d been out on a drive.  Tall, thin, and bearded, he was a serious man of few words.

Lars loved his wife and saw to a proper burial.  Once the preacher had finished the service and the casket was in the ground, father and son just stood there silently for awhile.

Finally, Lars spoke.  Rather than look at his son directly, he just kept his focus on Gretchen’s head stone.

“I realize this may be an awful way to feel,” Lars said to his boy.  “But I’ll never be able to look at you the same way again.”

Lars pulled a few bills out of his pocket and pressed them into his son’s hand.  “I left you in charge and as the man of the house you did nothing.”

Slade watched his father walk away from him and listened to the last word’s he’d ever hear from his old man.

“You’re a gutless coward and you’re no son of mine.”

Young Slade stood by his mother’s grave awhile longer, trying to convince himself that this entire experience had been a bad dream, but it wasn’t.  It was real.  And hope for a better tomorrow was no longer a concept he could comprehend.

After six years of working every odd job imaginable, he joined the Marshall’s Service, which he took as a license to shoot and/or hang ever miserable law breaking desperado he could get his hands on.  It didn’t matter who they were.  He always imagined they were Sawbuck Sam Donovan.

Alas, none of Slade’s subsequent heroism ever made him feel like he’d paid the debt he felt he owed to his mother, nor did any of it make him feel like his father would ever accept him again.

Happiness.  Hope.  Feelings he was sure he’d never know.  But at least being a Marshall meant never feeling helpless…never feeling like it was necessary to hide under a bed.

Yes, as Slade laid on the porch in front of the church, he developed an intense hatred for zombies, vampires and werewolves.  They had made him feel helpless for the first time in a long time.

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Apr 13 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 73

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Doc stared at the ropes binding him to a chair.

“Is this really necessary?” Doc asked.  “None of you are in any imminent peril from me I assure you.”

“That’s exactly what a zombie would want us to believe,” Miss Bonnie said as she looped another coil of rope around the doctor and tied it up tight.  “Lull us into thinking everything’s peachy keen then before we knew it he’s chomping on our brains before you can whistle dixie.”

“Why are you talking?” the Reverend asked.  “The other zombies didn’t talk.  They just grunted.

“Hmmm,” Slade said as he stepped over, Sarah still attached to his side.

“Like that,” the Reverend added.

“Those peepers of yours are sending a chill up my spine, Doc,” Gunther said.  “This is for your own good until we know what’s going on with you.”

“It’s either this or we put you down like a dog,” Miss Bonnie said.

Anabelle rubbed her hand across Doc’s cheek.  “How do you feel?”

“Never better, my dear,” Doc said.  “Like I’m a young buck again.  Even better.  Better than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.  I feel like I could run for miles and lift enormous weights over my head.  I dare say I even feel better than I do when I am under the effects of cocaine.”

Miles was a boy again and wearing his blanket like a cloak once more. 

“Can you make heads or tails of this, youngun?” Gunther asked.

“Nope,”  Miles said.  “He looks like a zombie.  But he talks so much…”

“Well shit,” Gunther said.  “He was like that before.  Why did all those varmints vamoose?”

Miles walked over to the doorless frame and stepped onto the porch.  Miss Bonnie and Gunther joined.  The trio watched as scores of zombies all lumbered toward the opposite side of town.

“Blythe’s calling them,” Miles said.  “And that’s not good.  If you think they were bad on their own, wait until he gets them organized.”

Gunther poked his head through the door frame and spied the bride.

“Miss Sarah.  Do you think I could borrow your beau?”

Sarah shook her head furiously.  “No.”

“You’ll be fine, Miss Sarah,” Gunther said.  “I guarantee it.  We’re all going to be right here…”

Gunther nodded at Miles.  “And we even got a dog monster on our side.”

“Werewolf,” Miles said.

“No,” Sarah said, clutching Slade even tighter, practically cutting off the circulation in his arm.

Anabelle grabbed one of Sarah’s arms and the Reverend grabbed the other.  Together, they gently pried her off of Slade.

“Miss Sarah,” the Reverend said.  “At times like these, do you know what I find most comforting?”

“The good book?” Sarah asked.

“Bourbon!” the Reverend said.  “Let’s go find my stash.”

“Rain!” Sarah shouted.  “Rain you’re not going away are you?”

“No,” Slade said.

“Promise me you won’t leave me.”

“I…I promise.”

The trio of Slade, Gunther and Miss Bonnie found a bit of privacy out on the front porch.

“Well, what’s the plan, marshall?”  Gunther asked.

“Marshall?” Slade asked.  “I turned in my star.”

“No one gives a shit about that star, Rain,” Gunther said.  “We’re the only law this town has and you’re still the marshal as far as I’m concerned.”

Miss Bonnie nodded.  “He’s right.  What’s our next move, marshall?”

Slade’s voice was raspy as ever as he looked at Gunther.  “You want to fight now?  You’re the one who always wants to run away from everything.”

The old man’s face turned bright red with rage.

“Damn it, boy,” Gunther said.  “I do not run away from everything.  I run away from some things.  There’s a big damn difference.”

“There is?” Slade asked, curious at this side of Gunther he’d never seen before.

“Yeah there is,” Gunther said.  “I wasn’t a shrinking violet by any stretch when it was my turn to do my part to keep the union together. And I did more than my fair share of fighting in Texas before you were even a twitch in your Daddy’s pecker.”

“Texas?”  Miss Bonnie asked.

“You’re darn tootin’,” Gunther said.

“Bullshit,” Slade said.

Gunther unsheathed his knife and handed it to Slade.  “Read that handle motherfucker.”

Slade squinted at the handle and looked shocked when he saw two engraved words. 

“James Bowie.”

“Colonel Jim Bowie of the Texas Volunteer Army,” Gunther said as he snatched the knife back.  “Trusted me with the very first sticker he ever invented.  Commanded me to get it the hell out of the Alamo before Santa Anna could get his grubby mitts on it.  He trusted me with it on account of how many Mexicans I killed, thank you very much.”

“You never said anything,” Slade said.

“I never needed to say anything,” Gunther said.  “I don’t need to sashay around with a sour puss on my face and a cigar in my yap the way you do just to prove to the world that I got a big swingin’ dick.  This knife and my memories are the only proof I need.”

“He’s got you there, Rain,” Miss Bonnie said.

“What?” Slade asked.

“You put on airs,”  the redhead said.

“I do not.”

“You do,” Miss Bonnie said.  “You got this tough guy act you put on around everyone but me.”

“But you?” Gunther asked Miss Bonnie.

“He’s a real sweet teddy bear,” Miss Bonnie said.  “Aint you?” she asked Slade.

Slade’s forehead vein was throbbing.  With full rasp he declared, “I am not a teddy bear.”

“Look,” Gunther said.  “I don’t run from every fight.  Just the fights that aren’t worth dying for.  Only a dumb ass would let himself get shot trying to save a town full of ungrateful yahoos from getting their shit stolen from a scumbag like Smelly Jack.”

The old man pulled bullet after bullet off of his belt and one by one, inserted them into the chamber of his pistol.

“But when I was just a bit older than Miles in there I saw a chance to make a life for myself in a free Texas so I took it,” Gunther said.  “It didn’t work out the way I’d hoped but at least I came back here knowing I’d earned a great man’s respect.  And years later when there was chance to keep the North and South from going their separate ways?  You better believe that was a cause worth fighting for.”

Slade chewed on the end of his cigar.  The old timer pointed at the zombies trudging away down the road.

“And even though the odds are a million to one against a victory here,” Gunther said. “If there’s even a slim chance that I can keep the United States of America from becoming stepped on by a bloodsucking son of a bitch’s boot heel, then you best believe I’m going to take it.”

Miss Bonnie cocked her shotgun.  “That was beautiful Gunther.  Rain, let him hear your real voice.”

Slade flashed Miss Bonnie a look of total betrayal.  “What?” he grunted.

“Go on,” Miss Bonnie said.  “Gunther shared.  Now you share.  This is how you make friends.”

“I don’t want to,”  Slade said, gruffly.

Miss Bonnie stomped her foot. “Rainier Slade, this man is the best friend you will ever have and you will let him hear your real voice right this instant!”

Slade rolled his eyes then cleared his throat.  He started talking normally, with his real voice, the one he only shared with Miss Bonnie.

It wasn’t womanly.  Or all that intolerable.  But as it turned out, Slade’s regular tone was just the slightest bit…nasal.

“This is how I talk.”

Gunther leaned back and looked Slade in the eye.  “Really?”

“Really.”

“Fuck,” Gunther said.

The old man slapped the marshal’s back.  “Like I said, boy.  As long as you’re convinced your dick swings, no one else’s opinion matters.”

Gunther moved near the door frame.  “If you want to fight, we’ll fight.  If you want to run, we’ll run.  No shame in it under the circumstances. It’s easy for me to say let’s fight because I’ve done all my living already but you two are just getting started.  Whatever you decide, I’m with you, marshall.”

Slade tipped the end of his Stetson.  “Thank you…deputy.”

The old man walked into the church but then poked his head back outside.

“But seriously, get that frog back in your throat.  You’re going to kill the morale in here.”

“Got it,” Slade said.

Slade and Miss Bonnie sat on the edge of the porch.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Slade said.

“Please,” Miss Bonnie said.  “I’ve known that old buzzard longer than you and I’ve never seen him go on about another man the way he does about you.  He doesn’t care what you sound like.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” Slade said. 

“Are you ever going to tell me?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“Maybe,” Slade said.  “When you tell me why a cancan girl can drop a slew of zombies and offer to blow off Doc’s head without breaking a sweat.”

Miss Bonnie stood up.  “Touche,” she said as she walked into the church.  “I’ll let you think.”

All alone, Slade laid back and stared up at the stars.  “Yeah.  Let me think.”

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Apr 13 2016
5 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 71

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The front door crashed open under the weight of an incoming zombie horde.  Over a dozen undead townsfolk in various states of decomposition entered.  Some were missing limbs, eyes, jaws, or some other part.  Not a one of them was fully intact.

Slade drew his twin pistols and popped heads left and right.  Gunther joined in with his sidearm, as Miss Bonnie did with her shotgun.

It was a bloodbath.  Guts galore.  Body parts, internal organs, pieces of bone and chunks of brain spewed all over the house of worship.

Despite being three sheets to the wind, the Reverend still retained the good sense to grab Sarah by the hand and lead her to the back of the room, where they took cover behind the pulpit.

Anabelle had never fired a gun before but figured now was as good a time as any to give it a try.  She picked up one of the rifles Bonnie had delivered off of the table, racked up a bullet, and pointed it at a zombie head.  She exploded the creature’s skull but being unused to the weapon’s kickback, she was knocked butt first to the ground.

She turned her attention to Doc, who was still lying face down on the floor.  The prostitute yanked on the good doctor’s arm, attempting to move him to safety all by herself.  He proved too heavy for her petite frame, but she kept pulling anyway.

Miles wolfed out, growing to his massive hairy form.  He spied more zombies pouring in through the broken window.  The werewolf clawed through a few intruders, then plugged the window with his body.  He could feel teeth biting into his hide.  It would have meant instant death for anyone else, but for him, it was mildly annoying.  Like mosquitos that wouldn’t go away.

To the right of the pulpit, there was a door that led to a hallway which in turn led to a number of rooms and a backdoor.  A terrified Slade craned his neck back as the sounds of wood being smashed came from that direction, followed by more groans.

Gunther heard the noise too. “Go!” he said to Slade. 

Miss Bonnie.  Sarah.  Miss Bonnie.  Sarah.  As per usual, Slade’s mind was torn between his two ladies.  But he trusted Gunther.  And Miss Bonnie was racking up quite a body count of her own. Meanwhile Sarah only had the Reverend or in other words, basically had no one.

It’s been said that the Winchester rifle is the gun that won the West.  It was revolutionary for its time, giving a marksman the ability to shoot as fast as he could pull a handle.

Slade picked up the rifle that Annabelle had dropped and aimed it at the door toward the back of the room.  A zombie trudged in.  Slade yanked that handle, racked up a bullet and bam.  That zombie was headless, its corpse plopping down on the floor.

The ex-marshall kept moving forward.  With expert precision, he popped another head.  Then another.  His spent casings clinked across the floor.

Sarah was beyond consolation, but the Reverend did his best anyway, quoting every uplifting bible verse he could think of to keep her spirits up.

Slade racked up another bullet but…bam.  The zombie head he was aiming for exploded before he pulled his trigger.  He looked to his right and Doc was up on his feet, giving the incoming zombies a barrage from his guns.

“Have at thee, knaves!”  Doc cried as he sent more and more of the undead to their doom.

Werewolf Miles cocked his head to the right in confusion as he felt the teeth stop biting him.  He looked out the window.  His attackers were walking away. 

Miss Bonnie and Gunther had whittled their horde down to three.  Those creatures also turned and walked for the door, only to become easy sport as the old man and the red head picked them off.

Slade took out the last zombie at the back of the church then ran to his bride.  Sarah flinged herself at Slade and squeezed him hard, holding on for dear life.

Doc shook his wrists and his spring loaded guns retracted up underneath his sleeves. 

“Monsters with the good sense to retreat when they are outmatched?” Doc asked.  “I say, just as one puzzle is solved, another presents itself.”

The good doctor helped Annabelle up.  “Are you all right my dear?”

“I think so but…”

Anabelle took one look at Doc and shrieked.

Slade attempted to investigate but Sarah kept her grip.  She had become a widow shaped barnacle attached to Slade’s hip.

Gunther and Miss Bonnie took a look at Doc’s eyes.  They were all white.  Completely blank.  Devoid of any color whatsoever.  Though his flesh had yet to rot, his new peepers made him look like the zombies that had just torn the place apart.

The old man and the redhead pointed their guns at Doc.  Slade wiggled one hand free from his bride and got Doc in his sights with one of his pistols.

“Was it something I said?”  Doc asked.

“Doc,” Annabelle said.

“Yes?” the good doctor asked.

Timidly, Anabelle handed Doc a compact mirror.

“You need to have a look.”

Doc took the compact.  “Good Heavens, people.  I know I don’t strike the most handsome visage but is that any reason to…”

He opened it up and took a look.  “Oh bother.”

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Apr 10 2016
18 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 70

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“An immunity,” Doc said.  “Lad, as we speak, there are renowned scientists who are studying the concept that exposure of the body to minute doses of a disease could, in fact, build up the body’s defenses against said disease.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Miss Bonnie said.

“It does sound stupid Doc,” Gunther said.  “Get yourself sick to keep from getting sick?”

“A bold gambit to be sure but one that is espoused by the likes of Mr. Louis Pasteur,” Doc said.

“Who?”  Miss Bonnie asked.

“That shit head that told everyone they got to boil their milk,” Gunther replied.

“Oh,” Miss Bonnie said. “Fuck him there aint nothing wrong with milk.”

Doc erupted into a long coughing spell.  His throat settled down and he kept on.

“Imagine your body is a bare knuckle boxer and the disease an opponent,” Gunther said.  “Would a boxer not fair better against an opponent it has briefly fought before?  Said boxer would learn all of its opponent’s strengths and weaknesses and be better prepared for a full bout, would he not?”

Slade chomped on his cigar.  “But the opponent might just knock you the hell out in the first go around.”

“Possibly,” Doc said. “But unlikely if the match were short.”

Gunther looked at the spilled elixir coating the floor.

“Shit Doc,” Gunther said. “You’ve been guzzling this shit for as long as I’ve known you.  Short match my ass.”

Gunther pointed at Townsend.  “And if one bite was all took to turn this prick then I’m surprised you’re not a zombie already.”

“Ah,” Doc said as he slowly raised a finger, as if the small gesture was a great task in his weakened condition. “But as young Miles has indicated there are supernatural aspects at play.  I have never been one to espouse that science and religion are diametrically opposed forces but rather, science can be turned to for an explanation of what religion cannot enlighten us on and vice versa.”

Miles nodded.  “Vampires have been known to trick people into drinking their blood,” the boys said.  “Drinking it doesn’t kill a person and the soul fights the vampire’s will for as long as the person lives.  The person who drank it unwittingly would never even know what happened unless someone tells him.”

Doc stroked his beard.  “I would have to study samples of vampire blood in a laboratory to be certain, but I theorize that while ingesting vampire’s blood into one’s stomach causes no physical harm to the subject until the obvious post mortem zombification, the injection of this supernatural contagion directly into the bloodstream via a zombie bite is such a shock to the system that it instantly kills the victim and subsequently zombifies them.”

Gunther, Slade and Miss Bonnie exchanged confused looks.

“Translation?” Gunther asked.

“Don’t let a zombie bite you,” Miles said.

“Yes,” Doc said.  “Oh how I admire the ability of youth to put matters more succinctly than a man as learned as I.  At any rate, I have been a regular consumer of the vampire blood infused elixir for many weeks now, since the day I formed my lamentable partnership with Mr. Blythe.  Ergo, so much vampire’s blood now courses through my veins that it kept Mr. Townsend’s bite from instantly killing me but…”

Annabelle pouted.  Doc looked away from her.

“The more concentrated form of the contagion delivered into my system during my ill fated counter with Frank Buchanan’s tooth is slowly working against me” Doc said.  “Slowed by the copious amounts of vampire’s blood in my body yet in due course, I shall eventually become an undead man.”

The group stood around Doc quietly.  Miss Bonnie raised her barrel.  Gunther pushed it down again.

“Am I going to have to take that away from you?” Gunther asked.

“He just said he’s going to become a zombie!” Miss Bonnie said.

Anabelle knelt down and hugged Doc, who grimaced in pain at the contact.  “He’s not a zombie yet.”

The prostitute gently held Doc’s head in her hands.  “I don’t know how but we’re going to fix this.”

“My dear…”

“No,” Anabelle said.  “As long as you’re alive and not a zombie, there’s still hope.  Isn’t there?”

Doc’s eyes pointed downward.

“Well,” Annabelle said.  “Isn’t there?”

“In theory,” Doc said.

“I’ll take it,” Annabelle replied.

“So what?” Miss Bonnie asked.  “We just wait until he turns and bites one of us?”

“Damn it, Miss Bonnie,” Gunther said.  “In my entire life I have never left a man behind when he needed me and I’m not going to start now.”

Miss Bonnie looked at Slade, who, in his mind, went to work coming with the most diplomatic answer he could come up with.

“He’s still alive,” Slade said.  The ex-marshall looked at Miles.  “Anyone ever come back from becoming one of these things?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of,” Miles replied.

Doc shifted back in his chair and looked up at Annabelle.

“Oh my dear,” Doc said.  “How I wish I had known you longer but alas, the curtain most close early on the show of my life, the best act of which was certainly the day I met you.  Miss Lassiter is correct and she should be allowed to dispatch me posthaste.  Until she does, I am a threat to everyone in this room.”

Anabelle wept.  “Doc…no.”

Gunther put a hand on Doc’s shoulder.  “Is that what you really want, Doc?”

“It is my good man.”

Gunther shook his head and walked back next to Slade.  Annabelle kissed Doc and looked him in the eyes.

“Please…” she begged.

“It is for the best, my dear,” Doc said.  “We will always have that thing.”

Anabelle gave her man one final kiss then backed away.

“Do you wish me to read you your last rites, son?” the Reverend asked.

“No,” Doc replied.  “I’d prefer to have the matter over with.”  Doc looked at Miss Bonnie and closed his eyes.  “Fire at will, Miss Lassiter.”

Slade put his hand down on Miss Bonnie’s barrel this time.  “Maybe I should do it,” Slade said.  “Killing a man is a hell of a thing.  It’ll haunt you forever, whether it was justified or not.”

“I got it,” Miss Bonnie replied, coldly.

Miss Bonnie raised her weapon and took aim at Doc’s head.  Everyone watched as she maintained her line of sight until finally, she put her shotgun down.

“Son of a bitch,” Miss Bonnie said.  “I can’t do it with him all alive and dopey looking and everything.”

Doc opened his eyes.  He flicked his right wrist and his spring loaded gun popped out from underneath his sleeve.

“You are a kinder woman than I presumed, Miss Lassiter,” Doc said.  “And I can see now it was selfish of me to ask one of you to commit this heinous deed.”

Slowly, Doc rose up out of the chair and onto his feet, his body shaking and struggling to hold up his own weight.

“Adieu, my friends,” Doc said.  His arm trembled as brought the pistol to his temple.  “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Before Doc even pulled the trigger, he crashed face first into the floor.

Gunther, Slade and Anabelle all crouched around him.

“What the hell was that?” Gunther asked.

“I think he’s still breathing,” Annabelle said.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.  Multiple fists pounded on the church door.  The sound of hungry growls poured in through the broken window.

Miss Bonnie pointed her shotgun at the door.  “We’ve got bigger problems.”

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